Urban Nosgothic
by VladimirsAngel
Summary: If you were in a situation like this, wouldn't you want Raziel to come to your rescue? Please R & R if you read. *CHAPTER 15 UP, with review responses...FINISHED*
1. Cruelty

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URBAN NOSGOTHIC

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Legacy of Kain created by Eidos Interactive, Crystal Dynamics, Silicon Knights.

I don't know where this is going, so bear with me. Darker than normal. Should I continue? Seriously, if this is no good, I won't take it anywhere. 

Cruelty isn't something exclusive to humanity, you know. 

It was there before humanity knew what to do with that sharp piece of flint: it was there before furred beasts were even born. 

When life first crawled on this earth, that was when cruelty began. When the first creeping thing saw the second, smaller creeping thing; decided it didn't like the way the second creeping thing was looking at it, and decided to stand on the second creeping thing's insert likely appendage here - that was where cruelty was born.

Seems a little odd to me that, millions of years on, we haven't developed this crucial skill into a fine art. Even with the most carefully planned tortures, the most advanced acids and tweezers, there's something so fundamentally blunt about cruelty. Even modern cruelty has no real finesse.

When it comes to it, it's still all down to standing on the little guy's likely appendage.

Raziel was, for once in his long life, the little guy. Kain was the bigger wolf in the pack, the heavy metal in the mix. Raziel loved him, served him faithfully.

Died for him. Again. 

"Are you still playing that game?"

Pause. 

"No. Yes. I'm sorry. I'll turn it off."

How could I have ever explained it to him? That I knew what Raziel was going through? That the little blue guy's obsession with vengeance for past wrongs was also mine?

My boyfriend comes back into the living room and plunks down on the sofa, beer can in hand. He peers at Raziel's angular, PS1 form, frozen in the middle of a vicious attack on an early Dumahim vampire. "You played this game already," he says. "Is this what you do all day?"

I don' t answer. Stay safe. Stay quiet. My body is already tensing at the suspicion in his voice. I am getting ready to run, to cower. What was I thinking, playing while he was in the house? It's not as if I _enjoy_ spending two hours every morning trying to cover up the bruises with cheap foundation and pressed powder.

The pause lasts long enough. Safe. I breathe quickly. He turns the playstation off and pokes me in the arm - oh yes - hard enough to leave a bruise. "I'll start thinking you'll fancy him," he says, chucking the game box across the room and flicking to _Baywatch_.

Again, I say nothing. What should I say? That I'd rather date a jawless, emaciated demon than date _him_? That Raziel, vampire or not, scares me less than he does?

My boyfriend grins at me. "Run out to the service station and get me some cigarettes, won't you?" he says. "You got some money, right babe? you were paid today?"

"Yep," I say, quickly. I don't smoke. Smoke gives me asthma. He knows this. 

You see, my problem is that I always fell for bad boys. Dangerous men, who had power and weren't afraid to use it. Loving him. Serving him faithfully...

He throws the car keys at me and nearly catches me in the forehead. 

Another little thing about cruelty, my friends. Cruelty begins at home.

Every time I walk out of that house I think about never coming back. But do you know what brings me back? Raziel.

I'm a little like him, I guess. He wants his life back the way it was, before someone he trusted, maybe even loved, a little, hurt him in a way he could never have imagined. And as much as he wants to leave, to return to death or even to return to a new life, he is tied to Kain by his desire to right that wrong, avenge himself. I'm tied down by that, too. I guess I once had wings, as well, though like his they're broken now. I still get hypnotised by that moment in the game intro where Raziel, feeling the touch of Kain's hand on his brand-new, dragon's wings, scowls and brings one wing up slightly, as if repulsed by the intimacy and trying to pull away.

I get the cigarettes and come back home to my very own Kain. He's drunker now than when he came home an hour or so ago, and he's playing _Tekken_, which is never a good sign. 

"Piece of shit!" 

He hurls the controller away from him. It breaks. It was the last one we had, the previous two having suffered much the same fate. I feel a stab of loss and misery - no more escape to Nosgoth for me - and then he turns on me, as I knew he would. I throw the packet of cigarettes at him, a pointless defensive act, and back up against the wall as he stumbles toward me.

Dear God. This time, he has a knife. It gleams a little along one edge. Wicked sharp, as my best mate Carrie would have said. "Bitch..." he slurs, swiping with it. I bring up my arm, futilely, as Raziel would have arched his wing against Kain's invasive touch -

The blade makes an odd, ringing noise as it glances off something hard. My vision is suddenly full of dark blues, greens and browns - I gag as something that feels and smells like a flap of mummified skin slaps me in the face. 

He's finally done it. Hit me so hard he's knocked all my brains out of my head.

Because really, what else could explain the fact that Raziel is standing here, in my living room, all over-six-foot of him, with one set of talons flung forward to block my boyfriend's knife?


	2. Playing Games

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URBAN NOSGOTHIC

Chapter 2

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Legacy of Kain created by Eidos Interactive, Crystal Dynamics, Silicon Knights.

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Thankyou all for the encouragement *bows* I am most definitely not worthy. But I have been inspired to continue. Hope you like. :)

Strange to say, despite the kinship I had always fancied we shared, Raziel's presence is not instantly comforting to me. Okay, my boyfriend, obviously in doubt as to the evidence of his own eyes, has dropped the knife and is making odd little whistling noises in his throat as he breathes, but the sheer sight of Raziel no more than six inches from my face is utterly terrifying.

I never realised how truly frightening he was before. How could I have missed it? The answer, of course, is obvious. When it isn't real, when it isn't crouched protectively in front of you smelling like the inside of a pyramid and scissoring its claws in a threatening manner, it doesn't seem quite so terrible.

Raziel rumbles in his chest, a completely recognisable form of warning, and takes a step forward. The already ruined playstation controller crunches under his pale yellow hoof with an ugly splintering noise. My boyfriend starts to splutter "Wha- what _the fu -" _but is abruptly curtailed as Raziel pounces, horribly fast, and knocks him flat onto the carpet, straddling his chest. My heart hammers sickeningly against my ribs. Inside my head a little, frightened voice is whimpering, _oh my god he's so fast so fast big-cat-like big pawstrike huge claws -_

Claws. I moan inwardly, seeing the dull 60-watt light gleaming from their polished surface. Why don't they look this lethal in the game?

I try not to breathe as Raziel lowers his head, glowing eyes fixed on my fallen foe, and seems to be scenting him. "Funny," comes the remark eventually in those instantly recognisable, sardonic tones. "You don't smell very tough to me."

For some reason, unable perhaps to take in the full spectacle of him, I find myself focussing on specifics. The knotted blue sinews in his calves hold my attention for almost three seconds before the heavy cloth weave of his cowl starts to fascinate me, and that soon gives way to an all-consuming interest in the lank strands of his black hair and the way they hang over his sharply pointed ears.

Sharp. Pointed. Teeth. Claws. I snap out of it, as my body tries desperately to remind me that my boyfriend may not be the only one in trouble here. My legs cast the over-riding vote, and stagger me towards the kitchen and the back door. 

"You! Stop right there!" I hear Raziel call as I catch my hip a glancing blow on the door-frame. My eyes water in pain, but I keep moving, hearing all the while movement behind me and the man who used to beat me wailing like a baby seal in distress. 

My hands scrabble at the back door handle and I throw it open. Night air, warm in the summer evening, rushes in as I rush out. 

For some reason I cannot understand myself, I find myself halting half-way to the garden gate, looking back. Nothing. The house seems quiet. The back door swings gently in the breeze, light from the lounge spilling out like a mat onto the concrete. There is no sign of either my boyfriend or a looming gothic horror, and I am gripped by a sudden certainty - that I was dreaming. 

Of course I was. I'd been rescued, never mind for the moment by what. I had seen my tormentor terrified beyond measure and in fear of his life. It had to be a dream. Hadn't I had the very same dream the week before? Except that it had been a policeman bearing no small resemblance to Orlando Bloom that had done the rescuing.

I fold to my knees, rubbing at the pain of my bruised hip, and chuckle dryly to myself in the dark of the garden. I would have to get up, go back to bed, where my boyfriend would hopefully not have noticed my new habit of sleepwalking and still be snoring.

There is a clatter from the lounge, as of someone kicking a beer can over, and my hopes evaporate. I tense, automatically, then start the slow hobble back indoors, hoping to be upstairs and in bed before he notices. My knees ache as I start to climb the stairs.

Raziel to my rescue - god, I'm a head case.

It seems odd that someone appears to have shoved a chair under the bathroom door handle, though. And where _is_ all that yelling coming from? Muffled, slurred, but still I think I'd know that voice anywhere…

"Let me out of here, you slut! Let me out! I'll make you regret this little game for weeks, d'you hear me? Weeks!"

I turn on the stairs as my sixth sense, the one that warns me of someone standing too close behind me, shrieks danger at me. My heart leaps up, high enough to choke me and the sensation is so physically real that my hand flies to my throat in reaction. Raziel puts his head on one side, quizzically. I get the impression that, unfamilar though he finds the sensation, he's actually quite confused and starting to get irritated.

He's also holding the box of the _Soul Reaver_ game in one three-clawed hand. 

"'Little game'?" he queries, flatly, waving the box at me, and his expression is unreadable behind the cowl. "I think you and I need to have a talk."


	3. No Answers

**URBAN NOSGOTHIC**

**Chapter 3**

_Legacy of Kain created by and belonging to Eidos Interactive, Crystal Dynamics, Silicon Knights._

_Thank you all so much for your reviews. *takes plushies and adds them to her collection* I'm really glad you're liking the story so far. My other half would like to point out that I'm NOT writing from personal experience, at least not with him *chuckles* Aww. He's such a sweetie. I promise to try and do a proper review response soon…*sits down to wait for her Lt Raziel toy to arrive...winks at Lilith…Yep. Still waiting!*_

I can barely bring myself to walk past him. 

He retreats, kindly enough, to the kitchen at the foot of the stairs, and waits as I shudder my way down and pad quickly past him into the lounge. I think shock is setting in. I feel as if I've been swaddled in wool and an odd warm feeling is spreading upwards from the pit of my stomach. 

I pick up the upset beer can with rubbery fingers and almost drop it again by falling over the broken controller. I am aware that Raziel is standing, more or less patiently, in the doorway, but I'm not ready to look at him again yet. Instead I am tidying, reflexively gathering abandoned glasses, magazines, sweaters - "I'm, I'm sorry about the mess," my voice quavers, following it up with a panicked little giggle at how stupid I'm being. 

Raziel sighs - what's left of my brain screams at me _how!?! How is he sighing? Why the hell is he even breathing? He's dead! _- and says, "You know, you're really not doing so badly. Considering that if you were like other human women I've encountered, you'd be standing in a corner with your arms over your head whimpering like a three-day-old wolf pup."

He moves. I manage to force myself to watch his hooves as he walks over to the sofa and sits down. "And you _ran away_," he adds, sounding almost impressed. 

I almost drop the magazines with a sob of indrawn breath. For some reason, the thought of _running away_ touches a well of fear inside me. My memory flashes moments of pain at me, running, being caught, being punished. Bad girl. You don't _run away_. Running away's something that naughty girls do…

Through my tears I hear his voice again, quieter this time. "Who are you?" he asks. 

Much to my shame, because I know it's a question he really needs the answer to right now, I can't answer him. I'm only surprised that he hasn't asked more questions, salient ones like _where the hell am I?_ and _you mean my life is a game to you?,_ reinforcing them perhaps with interrogative blows. Surely claws like that can only be meant to cause pain to soft skin like mine. Such fine weapons of cruelty are meant to be used. 

I must be keening like a baby by this time, because he adds, brusquely, almost as an after thought, "Come on, woman…I'm not going to hurt you…"

Fission is reached. Blindly, I hurl everything in my arms at him, beer can, copies of _Playboy_, my old green sweater. When everything is thrown I actually strike at him with my fists. His skin feels like slate under my blows.

"Don't _lie_ to me, you bastard!" I screech, barely recognising my own voice. "Just let's do this! Let's skip right to the part where you kill me! Just stop…stop pretending…" My voice cracks under the strain. "…stop pretending to be _nice_…."

My knees hit the carpet, my forehead hits something hard and bony that has to be one of his knees. I feel his talons come to rest on the exposed back of my neck, cold and smooth. 

And actually, I'm relieved. I wonder how much it will hurt when they slice to the bone?

Raziel's voice sounds from just above me, sounding astonished, "You -" he pauses as if groping for clarity, "You think I'm being nice?"

I turn my cheek against the cold skin of his leg, not caring what happens. The tough, ruined leather of his (boots? Or is it some form of leg armour?) digs into my chin. This close to, he smells like death, but not new death. There's something cold and clinical about the scent of him, as if he's been frozen and wind-blasted until nothing remains but sterility, the sense of thousands of years gone by…

"Gods," he continues. "What has happened to you?"

From the bathroom, the sound of my boyfriend breaking the tiny window with the toilet brush can be heard. I look up, sharply, and something of the fear in my eyes must have got through to him because he whips to his feet angrily and strides out into the kitchen. Thumping from above, a big man trying to lever himself through a tiny gap, and then steps on the stairs.

Stupidly, my first impulse is to call after Raziel, tell him not to go, that my boyfriend is dangerous when he's drunk. Then I hear the familiar refrain of: "Where are you, bitch?" and I fall back, crouching low beside the sofa arm.

After all, I know someone _more_ dangerous now. 

There is a scuffle, a clatter as Raziel's hooves skid a little on the vinyl, then the ring of steel as my boyfriend draws the carving knife from its block. I marvel a little at his resilience. Raziel is frightening enough to encounter once. To meet him head-on twice without resorting to mad panic is astounding. 

But then I was always more than half-convinced that the man was insane, anyway. 

"Come on, then! Come on!" he is currently bellowing. "You're not so big! You're not so damn scary! Come on! Come on! Come -"

The Reaver hums delightedly as it comes to life. My boyfriend's words die on his lips in a pained gurgle, and suddenly I'm on my feet, running to Raziel's side and scrabbling at his arm with my fingers. 

The Reaver's blade has shot right through my boyfriend's shoulder. He has been skewered with ruthless efficiency, and is making short, gasping noises like a fish out of water. Raziel is calmly holding him there, making no move to either retract or change the position of the blade. Blood drools from the wound and starts gathering darkly on the floor. 

I dig my nails into Raziel's blue skin, and he looks down at me with those dreadful, empty eyes. 

"Don't kill him! _Please_!"


	4. Review Responses

REVIEW RESPONSE 

*wipes brow* Phew. Sorry, have to take a break. All the angst is getting to me. If you're just here for the angst, the next chapter is that way *points* otherwise, here are some words for you, the readers, without whom I would be a great deal more unhappy for longer periods of time…

**Lilith:** First of all, any attempts on curtailing the safe arrival of Lieutenant Raziel will be met by the full force of a half-brick in a sock. *grins* Secondly, thankyou for being so encouraging. I'm glad the descriptions of Raz are to your liking. I've always had a fascination with the weirdness of his Soul Reaver form, so I thought I'd have a go at using him properly in a story. He's used to being used as comic relief, so I think he's pleased. *pats SR Raz on the head…he purrs*

Also, if Freya's up for it, so am I – but I warn you it won't be pretty - *strips to bikini and hot pants in front of a startled-looking Isca* Bring it on, kid. Or is she too scared she'll lose? *waves at Isca and bats her eyelashes*

**MikotoTribal:** *waves* Hello! I was happy with the "wings" analogy, too. Had to rewrite it a couple of times, but I'm really glad it worked in the end. I promise to try and write longer chapters, too. It's something I'm not good at. And yes, I agree. You wouldn't be exactly delighted at finding a walking corpse in your lounge, would you? ^_^

**AmuseMe:** *smiles* You're back! And I'm very happy you like my new story. Again, I really will try to write longer chapters *sheepish grin* and update as quick as I can. *grins smuttily* Has a nice ass, does he? I look forward to seeing it…*looks pointedly at Lilith* And also…_your _story…need someone to continue with? *looks a little puzzled* any way I can help? *smiles*

**Anima Flamma:** Thanks again for the plushies. And I like my Raziels tall. *grins*

**Raziella D Reaver:** *bows* Thank you for the reviews! I'll be updating as and when I can. Hopefully quickly *prays for inspiration*

**Deionarra:** *waves* Hiya! *struggles with impulse to do as suggested and blind evil story-boyf with Reaver* You think I have talent? *blushes* Aww, jeez…I don't know what to say… *Shuffles feet*  Here is your free tour guide to "Inside the Protagonist's Brain" by the way. *hands it over* Thank you so much for your kind reviews. ^_^

**Shadowrayne:** *hands over sword* Here it is. Sorry, Kain borrowed it. *grins*

**Syvia:** *hugs* Damnit I've always wanted to be an Angst Priestess…and no, sadly, some men just keep on digging their own pits…*wry smile* At the moment, where this story is going is a sore point. All I can say is, expect Kain. *winks*

**Zam Angelina**, **Space Toaster**, **Jedi-And** (are you still in Vladimir's garden, by the way? He gets paranoid…) **GOT** – (Guardian, you and I have to have a little chat about Nightcrawler and why we love him…*chuckles*) and **Angel-Chan **(*hugs* welcome back to LOK land!) – THANK YOU! *gaspgaspgasp* I'm running out of thankyous, but you get the idea. ^_^ On now to the next chapter. Hope you like! *looks back up at the review responses…I hope I didn't miss anyone out…*


	5. No Manual Either

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URBAN NOSGOTHIC

Chapter 4

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Legacy of Kain created by and belonging to Eidos Interactive, Crystal Dynamics, Silicon Knights.

He looks at me as if I'd just asked him if he'd mind terribly not being quite so blue. 

"What?" he says, gruffly.

"Don't kill him, please don't kill him."

"What?" once again, and a slow blink of the empty eyes as he tries to digest the totally alien concept I'm presenting him with. The Reaver purrs on his arm, anticipating a soul to devour soon. 

Eventually, after a long moment, Raziel says: "Why...not...?"

I belatedly realise that I'm still gouging him in the biceps with my nails, and I let go in a hurry. "Because...because..."

I'm aware of my boyfriend's terrified eyes fixed on me. He's waiting for the words that will reprieve him to fall from my lips. Waiting for me to snap the leash and bring the demon back under control. _Because really_, his eyes are saying, _really, this can't be happening. Too many drugs, too much booze, not enough sex...this is what happens to you._

Raziel cocks his head to one side and shifts his weight from one hoof to another, bored. Idly, he starts to twist the Reaver in his grip, corkscrewing it in the wound. My boyfriend screams like a woman. 

"Because the police will think I did it!" I manage, eventually. "You don't understand! They don't just let you get away with killing people here! They lock you away!"

Raziel just gazes at me, levelly. I know what he's thinking. There aren't enough police in the county to lock this one away. But he is still holding the box of the _Soul Reaver_ game in his other hand, and he glances at it momentarily while he thinks. 

The Reaver retracts, abruptly, with a disappointed whine like a nest of wasps. My boyfriend drops to the floor, bleeding all over the linoleum. I let out a long breath of relief. "Suppose you tell me, then," says Raziel, quietly, and I can sense that he's losing patience with this world and its petty no-killing-people rules. "Suppose you tell me where I am and exactly what this is?" 

He throws the box at me, and I cringe automatically, but his throw is aimed at my hands and not calculated to hurt. I catch it, and meet his eyes.

"If you'll put him back in the bathroom," I say, slowly, indicating the bloodied figure on the floor, "then I'll show you."

Raziel leans forward in his seat, fascinated. The PS1 graphics may be slightly blocky, but it's obviously high cinema as far as he's concerned. He watches himself being cast into the Abyss, and his claws cut my sofa cushions to ribbons as he works them angrily. "It wasn't quite like that," he says, excitedly, his eyes fixed on the screen. "Not quite, but almost, almost..."

Funny how I'm almost getting used to him, now. My brain, no doubt running some protective sub-routine to stop me from toppling into gibbering uselessness, shows me the Domestic Raziel photo album: everybody needs a Soul Reaver about the house. Raziel in a pinny, washing up with his claws hidden in the suds. Raziel tending to daises with a prim little plant mister. Raziel locking me in the closet for thirty straight hours because I forgot to buy him any pretzels that week...oh, sorry. That's my very own personal domestic experience intruding on the fantasy. 

True, I've had to restrain myself several times from offering him tea like I would any other guest. It is almost one in the morning, but the adrenaline in my system won't allow for fatigue. Besides, who could sleep? There's a dead man in my lounge and a bloodstained casualty in the bathroom. Come the morning, I'm in a whole lot of trouble.

Raziel and my cat eye each other with mutual loathing. "This is a game?" he repeats. He's said this several times already. Nosgoth lacks video gaming, so far as I've always understood, but he seems to have caught onto the idea quite quickly.

"What happens in the end?" he asks. 

"You chase Kain into the Time Streaming Device. There's a sequel, " I add, because he looks vaguely disappointed, as if the whole of his crusade across time has not been documented, "but my boyfriend ended up using the disc as a coaster…"

Raziel seems to be thinking as he watches the demo. 

"So where's yours?" he asks.

My turn to say "What?" in an incredulous manner. He starts flipping through the game manual, pausing occasionally to read instructions at random. 

"Your game. Where is it?"

After a few seconds frenzied thinking, I uncover his logic and am actually quite impressed by his acumen. This is how his mind is running: if I am in a world where my life has been turned into a game, then this must be a world where your own personal reality is defined by being in a game. Ergo - where is the game that features the life of this mad woman sitting beside me?

"I don't have one," I reply. "It doesn't work like that."

He frowns. 

"So you don't get instructions like these?"

I giggle, then clap a hand over my mouth to stifle it. "No. I wish I did, though." I notice that my game manual seems to have vanished inside a fold of his cowl. I don't think I'll be getting that back in a hurry.

"That man upstairs - he's not your enemy?" This is not really a question. He raises his head, seems to be sniffing. "You are lovers."

The idea that I can be identified as my boyfriend's "property" by scent alone sickens me. "But you fear him," Raziel continues. "Surely this is not the usual way with mated couples..."

His arrogance pricks me to respond. Of all the things I least expected to get out of this little encounter, new self-confidence was top of the list. 

"Surely," I counter, "it is not the usual way for a father to be so insanely jealous of his son's achievements..."

We look at each other and I see challenge in his eyes. I submit. I always submit.

But he is not angry. Instead, he merely asks (and is there a hint of plaintiveness in his rock-steady voice?) "If my life is only a game to you...than why am I here?"

"I don't know," I reply, and add, quickly, "but thank god you are, Raziel. Thank you. Thank you."

It is the first time I have cause to say it, and it takes him by surprise. But he has not forgotten his manners, and he says, "You are welcome," in a tone that sounds bemused, but genuine. 

Then he stands again with that odd, almost-graceful movement. His thin body with its prominent sweep of rib-cage and long, powerful limbs reminds me of a cheetah for a fleeting moment, and the whole slew of other unpleasant predatory metaphors slams home to me once again, making sure I don't forget that this is not a man. This is one of nature's carefully designed killers. He says: "The man upstairs. How much of a problem would it cause if he were to die?"

I want to say, "No problem. Kill him. Waste him. He doesn't deserve to live. I hate him. If you could have lent me your strength, your speed, I'd have done it myself a long time ago."

What I actually say is, "A lot. I could be put in prison for life. I'd never be free again."

"And you call this freedom that you have now?" 

He sounds incredulous, and I must say I don't blame him. But he shrugs it off, obviously figuring that they have idiots in this dimension, too, and continues, "Then I'd better see what I can do about that wound. Or you'll be having a problem quite soon, if I'm any judge…"

He gives me a sharp, amused look. "And I am."


	6. Unwanted Traffic

**URBAN NOSGOTHIC**

**Chapter 5**

_Legacy of Kain created by and belonging to Eidos Interactive, Crystal Dynamics, Silicon Knights._

_ Thankyou for all your kind reviews! I promise to try and do proper review responses every few chapters, but I just have to say: **Guardian!!** At least let  me have my mutant back! *starts untying Kurt from the chair* Poor baby…did she hurt you…*grins*_

"Hold still."

The bandages are starting to turn red already. I wince as Raziel slashes up swathes of gauze with swipes of his claws. 

One thing my boyfriend should be grateful for - there are always plenty of materials for healing wounds available in this house. I make sure of that. 

Raziel glowers, leaning in with lengths of sticking plaster tabbed to his lower arm just above his wrist. "Hold," he repeats, "still."

My boyfriend has been understandably twitchy throughout this process. Raziel and I tied him to the toilet with the curtain-cord, just in case he decided to try anything funny this time, but he hasn't tried to run away. He has flinched rather a lot, however. 

The wound in his shoulder is remarkably clean. The Reaver seems to almost cauterise as it cuts, and apart from the unrelenting dribble of blood, it looks as if it might heal quite quickly. 

If he doesn't bleed to death first. 

He yells aloud as Raziel slaps a further strip of tape across the gauze with a heavy hand. "I'm sorry," says Raziel, flatly, "did that hurt?"

I can't help it: I giggle.

"You're dead," comes the murmur from between my boyfriend's cracked lips. I think for a moment that he's referring to Raziel (he's always been a champion of stating the obvious, after all), but soon realise that no, he means me. "You're…so dead…when I get out of here…"

Raziel pokes a wad of cotton into his mouth and he splutters, frantically, struggling to breathe. His eyes bulge as Raziel leans even closer, his cowled face inches from him.

"And who would believe you?" Raziel asks, speaking softly and almost lovingly. As he speaks, he is drawing the cloth aside to reveal his ravaged death-mask of a face. My boyfriend begins to sweat as the long top eye teeth are revealed, with no lower set to compliment them, and the sharp angles of blue cheekbones too long bereft of a jaw to connect them. "As I understand it, people such as I are unknown in your world. What would you tell these -" he glances at me for a prompt, and I give it - "these _policemen_, if they came to you?"

For some reason, at the word "policemen" my boyfriend's eyes flick up to the cistern, and a dreadful weight clutches at my heart.

Some years ago, policemen had come to my door. Not, sadly, at my behest. They had come to ask us a few questions regarding our possible involvement in the trafficking of large amounts of crack cocaine. They had a warrant. They searched. My boyfriend pushed me to the kitchen, out of the way, and did all of the talking with a bright manic look in his eyes and a false smile on his lips. I was tempted to try and grab one of the officers, say, _take me with you. Today I'm afraid he will kill me. Take me with you._

Nothing was found, nothing was said, and for over a year now there has been no sign of anything more to do with illegal substances in our lives. 

But now I'm disposed to wonder…

I lift the lid of the cistern and close my eyes in quiet horror as I see the white plastic packets resting safely below the water level.

Raziel replaces his cowl, gives a final vicious and unnecessary smack to the bandages (my boyfriend screams) and looks over my shoulder as I stare helplessly at the drugs in the tank. "What is it?" he asks. "Is something wrong?"

"We have to get rid of this," I say to him. "People would kill for this stuff. People have probably _already_ killed for this stuff."

He unhesitatingly dips his claws into the water and pulls the packets out, one by one. There are five in all. I can't even begin to imagine how much they are worth. 

"I will take them outside," he says. "The Reaver will destroy them for you, and leave no trace."

I am surprised now by his protectiveness of me: after all, I should mean nothing to him, I'm just another human who tried to run away - but possibly he sees me as his only real link to his own world. My boyfriend is weakly trying to free himself, shouting and swearing at both me and Raziel. Strange. He cares more about these little packets than he ever did about me.

Raziel is on a mission - and as I well know, this means he will not stop until he has completed it. He is almost half-way down the stairs when I hear a car drawing up on the street outside, and suddenly the sound of big fists beating on my door. 

"Raziel, stop!"

His voice comes back up to me from the lounge. "What?"

I run to the bedroom, whip aside the curtains and peer out. The car outside is slim and streamlined, and topped with blue warning lights. I want to shout to Raziel again, to warn him, but I'm too late to forestall the instinctive response of a territorial vampire lord who is already in an _very_ ugly temper.

"Who are you?" Raziel calls. "State your business here!"

"Police," comes the response. "Can you open the door, please? We're here to investigate a possible domestic disturbance."

Of all the times my neighbours could have picked to report strange cries of pain and sounds of conflict coming from within this house, they had to pick tonight. It would almost be funny if it wasn't happening to me. I hurl myself down the stairs and fling open the back door for the second time that night.

Raziel, still loaded down with the drugs, gives me an interrogative _what-now?_ stare.

"Can you open the door please, sir?" from outside once again, sounding a little more impatient this time. Raziel hisses angrily at the interruption.

"Come on," I say. "We have to get out of here."


	7. Running

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URBAN NOSGOTHIC

Chapter 6

As part of me waits for the inevitable sounds of the police breaking the door in, another part of me tries to explain a difficult point of law to an increasingly irritable ex-vampire.

"They are mortals."

"Yes, I know, but -"

"They are...fragile."

I really do not like the way he says this. It has the same implication as a man who is wielding a sledgehammer describing a rival's prized Faberge egg collection.

"I could easily kill them," he protests, and when he sees the look on my face, he amends, "Stop them. I could easily stop them."

From upstairs, my boyfriend chooses this moment to start screaming like a torture victim and kicking his heels against the bath. _Clung. Clung-clung_.

"Is everything all right in there, sir? We're going to come inside now -"

The Reaver snakes its way around Raziel's arm as he reacts instinctively to the sense of danger. I am cursed with a vivid imagination, and I can already see the police officers bifurcated by that glowing blade, looks of disbelief on their faces as they fall, cloven neatly in two, to the floor. 

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Clung-clung-clung. The bastard upstairs has actually started to shout for help, never mind the drugs, never mind the blood everywhere. I look up, desperate, at Raziel. There is no mercy in his blank, pale eyes, and I inwardly blame myself for forgetting: unlike me, he is not a creature given to running away. He no longer cares what he fights, as long as he can fight something. Because fighting something, doing anything, even if it causes him pain, steers his mind away from the memory of what has happened in his past. It does not remove the memory - for nothing can truly accomplish that - it merely fills the present with an active red blindness so complete that there is neither the time nor the inclination to remember.

I know this feeling well. Except that I tend to lean more towards obsessive vacuuming. 

As I listen to the police outside discussing the relative merits of knocking the lock in, I give up any hope of this turning out to my advantage. My legs start to feel unreal, insubstantial as spider-web, and my vision bleaches out white as if I had fallen asleep sunbathing and only now awoken to a weird, over-exposed world. Raziel is a freakish negative of himself, his eyes glowing like the full moon at night. My head seems to be swelling, getting larger and heavier by the second -

__

clung-clung

-as my boyfriend redoubles his efforts to be heard -

__

thump-thump

-as my heart starts to race and skip beats -

I'm not aware that I'm falling until my head bounces off the edge of the sofa, and after that I only have a vague sense of movement and a dull, swift pain in my right wrist to help me account for what happens next.

A spray of water hits me in the face. Not fresh water, either - it smells like the sink-trap in a laundry. I gasp and my hands fly to my face to wipe it away from my nose and eyes.

"Wake up," says Raziel's voice. He sounds tense, but at the same time slightly bored, as if he's been waiting for me to regain my senses for some considerable time. "Wake up! I am not familiar with this area, and I need directions."

My eyes stinging from the vile water, I blink at him. I am sitting in a thin, litter-strewn alley that I most certainly don't recognise, and my wrist is swelling up to several times its natural size. I gape at it in dismay. Raziel, crouched on his haunches directly opposite me, notices my preoccupation and says: "Your arm hit the wall as I was carrying you out of your garden. I don't think it's broken."

My eyes narrow as I test the swelling with my other hand, gingerly. This is a bad one, even by my standards, but he's right, it's not broken. I must look more mortified than I feel because I elicit a grudging "Sorry," from him in addition. 

"That garden wall is over ten feet high..." I say, somewhat stupidly (I must have caught that state-the-obvious disease from my boyfriend). Raziel shrugs. 

"Is it?" he says. The night wind catches one of his ragged wings and lifts it clear of his back.

I sit up, cradling the wrist to me, and look around properly. At almost three a.m., the town around us is practically silent. The occasional car roars past in the street a few hundred yards away, and a dog starts yapping from a house somewhere in the suburbs. 

Raziel has brought me to almost the centre of town. We are safe. 

Something tells me it would be wiser not to ask why he chose to do it. For one thing, he does not look pleased with my slow recovery process, and asking how long it took him to ferry my unconscious form out of danger would probably be adding insult to injury, and might make him regret having done it. I choose to believe that he did it because somewhere inside him, maybe even at a basic instinctual level, he knows the difference between the bad guys and the good guys...and that he can't in all conscience see the bad guys win. 

Raziel watches me stagger to my feet wordlessly, and waits at the mouth of the alley for me to join him. I am painfully aware of what a liability I am in my current state, and I force myself to hurry. A police siren wails, faint and far-off, and I jump, brushing his ragged wing.

"What is your name?" 

Raziel is looking down at me with an unreadable expression. The question is so unexpected, so mannered and civil that I find myself stammering and thrown, unable to reply.

"I don't enjoy being at a disadvantage," he says, as if trying to be helpful. "And although you know _my_ name and seemingly every detail of my life, I know nothing about you except that the man you call your mate tried to kill you. And I doubt that your name is 'bitch' as he seems to think it is..."

I could not have been more shocked if he had been a stranger flirting with me in a bar.

"Uh...Rhianna," I manage eventually. "My name is Rhianna. Rhi, for short."


	8. Kicking The Wrong Guy

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URBAN NOSGOTHIC

Chapter 7

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Legacy of Kain created by Eidos Interactive, Crystal Dynamics, Silicon Knights.

_Thank you all so much for your reviews! I promise, proper review responses next chapter. *looks guilty, but cuddles her Raziel-plushies anyway* _

"Rhianna," says Raziel, digging into a fold of his cowl (I swear he must have sewn pockets into that thing, there's no way he could be keeping things in there otherwise) "I brought these with me. They seemed too important to you for me to leave them behind."

He brings out the five little white packets, and although I am not exactly overjoyed to see them, I admit to a sense of great relief that he didn't leave them behind. They must have found the bleeding figure tied to the cistern by now, and that alone will land me in enough trouble to see me locked away until my seventieth birthday. I take them from him, weigh them in my hands. They look so innocent, really. Like talcum powder. 

"Can you do what you said?" I ask. "Destroy them, I mean."

His head snaps up, alertly, and too late I notice the shadows of two figures crossing the mouth of the alley. At three a.m., very few travellers on the streets are going to be friendly, or, if I'm very unlucky, far too friendly. 

I shuffle closer to Raziel, shoving the drugs into my jeans pocket, and watch him watching the two men as they cross the street and get into a car parked by the kerb. They are cheerfully loud, laughing and clapping each other around the shoulders. Late clubbers. No danger, at least not yet.

Raziel, however, is not convinced of our safety and almost drags me out of the alley.

"Not here, not now," he snaps. "Time to go."

We hurry forward, Raziel's blue skin turning a series of odd, muddy green colours under the neon orange of the streetlights. He seems focussed now, although he turns to me often to ask for direction. Are more people likely to be around down this street or that one? What does the building where the policemen dwell look like? 

I am grateful for his company, but my own self-doubt is gnawing my stomach away inside. Where can we go, a woman on the run from the cops with a demon-angel at her side? I have no family here, and there is no-one who would take us in. I think even Kay, the friendly voice at the local Battered Wives Helpline, would balk if I turned up at the Refuge with Raziel in tow, asking for sanctuary…

Raziel hisses something in a language I don't understand, and yanks my arm hard, pulling me into a side-street. Dimly, I realise where we are – this is Cattle Lane, on the south side of town, beyond the rail bridge. Not a good place to be during daylight hours, and a place no sane person should attempt at night. I stifle a yelp of pain as my injured wrist catches the lid of a nearby dustbin, and Raziel's claws clamp over my mouth, almost too tightly for comfort. He draws me back into the shadows, and closes his eyes to hide the pale glow they emit. Obviously he has detected something he thinks is worth hiding from, and I am inclined to trust his instincts, although I have seen nothing myself.

In almost total darkness, I apply my old tried-and-tested methods of eluding detection. No matter how frightened you are, make your breathing slow and shallow. Don't gasp for your air – aspirant sounds attract attention quicker than the sound of a dropped coin in a beggar's meeting hall. Stay perfectly still, no matter the cost to your circulation. And always, always, if you're hiding from someone – wait at least twenty minutes longer after you think for the third time, 'they must have gone by now'. Trust me on these rules, my friends. In my belief, they've already saved my life many times over.

Raziel does not seem to breathe, and is so still he could be a perfectly carved gargoyle. His jutting pelvic bones are digging into me painfully, but I do not dare adjust position to avoid them, because even I can now hear the soft voices of a group of at least six or seven people, talking. They have halted at the entrance to Cattle Lane, and a few scattered phrases filter through to me as the blood pounds to my head in panic.

"….got a least a thousand for it, so Brian and me…"

" – wanted me to go get her some more, so I said to the bitch, more? I'll give you fucking more, darling –"

"…heard that Gary scored himself a proper gig this time. Somewhere he can really get his business going, if you know what I mean…"

An interruption of several men laughing in that ugly, knowing manner. My shoulders must have tensed involuntarily at their tone, because Raziel's claws tighten their hold again in a brief squeeze that is probably more _shut up _than _it's all right_. 

The voices continue their conversation for several minutes, then I almost gasp for joy – it seems they are moving on! I see their silhouettes against the streetlight flare as they amble slowly – too slowly – across the end of Cattle Lane. For fun, I start to count them as they pass. One, two, three, two more built like tanks with shaven heads and heavy boots…

"Oi, wait a minute, fellas."

The boots crunch to a halt.

"What is it, Darren?" asks one voice, sounding paternally weary. "Did you see your mommy doing her night job down there or something?"

More sniggering. But Darren is not to be put off.

"Saw something, all right," he says. 

Raziel moves his head the slightest fraction to the right and his eyes glow open a slit. I risk a tiny motion to see what it is has caught his attention. 

It is a cat. 

One of those scraggy, back-fence toms, more scar than skin, and he is staring at Raziel in complete horror. As Darren's footsteps start to echo in the mouth of the street, the cat screeches and hisses, fluffing up to his full size in an attempt to intimidate the intruder. He must know Raziel is not human, and as such must be a threat to his territory. 

"It's just a cat," calls a voice from the group. "Leave it. Come on."

But Darren is no longer listening to anything his mates have to say – Darren is too busy croaking out: "Bloody hell…" because Raziel, aware that the game is up, pushes me aside and charges forward with a snarl of fury. 

"Please!" I scream after him, "Don't kill anyone! Please!"

I suppose he must have heard me. Because although he is pulling no punches as the gang rush into the street to defend their friend, the Reaver remains conspicuous by its absence. 

I flatten myself against the wall, trying to hunker down behind the bins. Peering around one corner affords me a glimpse of the action, which is far more than I really want to see, but morbid curiosity keeps me watching. 

There are far more men in this gang than I had previously supposed. At least twenty, with reinforcements turning up with frightening rapidity. They are armed, mostly with knives. Raziel dances around them, wings flaring as he leaps out of danger again and again. One falls to a kick in the groin from his powerful hooves, another misjudges Raziel's immense strength and tries to pin him with a bear hug. I'd always imagined the sound of bones breaking to be sharper, like a length of bamboo cane snapping neatly in two, but it isn't like that. The sound as the thug's arms both break simultaeneously is more like that deep, glacial sound of an ice-berg cracking in the spring thaw. Darren himself is lying quite near to me, moaning softly as he tries to re-locate his knee-caps without causing himself any further pain. 

Raziel I am not concerned for. He is too fast, too strong, too skilled to be in any danger from a small-town backstreets brawl. I watch the men drop, one by one, as Raziel turns about angrily, bringing his claws up in a vicious swipe across the torso of another –

Abruptly he staggers, as if pole-axed, and the echoing report of the gunshot is ringing in my ears like the passing bell. The bullet has gone through his ribs at heart height, and the marksman, standing against the wall with his gun raised, is waiting calmly for his foe to drop. 

Raziel turns a slow-burn, furious gaze upon the sniper. "I almost felt that," he says, quietly. "Would you like to try again?"

The second, third and fourth shots slam into his forehead, shrunken waist, and thigh respectively. Raziel keeps walking, his pace as leisurely as if he were strolling through the park on a Sunday afternoon, as the next three shots punch holes in his cowl and shoulders. I notice the thin gleam of blue blood beginning to ooze sluggishly down his leg and wonder: _how long? How long before he stumbles again, even a little?_

A second later, and I am far too preoccupied to worry about him anymore. Two of the gang, taking advantage of Raziel's absence as he methodically snaps the shooter's gun in half, have found me and what I am carrying.

"Christ!" one says. "How much is this lot worth?" 

They cradle the packets as if they are as fragile as butterflies, and grin at each other in delight. "And she could be useful, too," says the same one, his eyes predatory. "Couldn't you, babe? You could have some fun with us, after we get all the cash from this little stash?"

"Cash…stash," snorts the other, obviously delighted by his buddy's highbrow sense of humour. Their hands snake towards my shirt, pluck at my zip. 

"Ra –" I begin to scream, but once again I feel big hands smothering my mouth. Raziel cannot hear me. He is too busy hurling gang members against the walls, no doubt aching in a dozen places from the bullet wounds. My feet kick out wildly at nothing, finding only empty air.

"Hold still, hold her, will you?"

I flail again with my legs, and this time I connect with what feels satisfyingly like a man's booted shin. I kick it, over and over, hoping to hurt its owner as much as I can. Although I can't see him, I'm sure he deserves a good kicking anyway.

So it comes as a surprise when the two would-be rapists on top of me are lifted straight up in the air by their scruffs, shouting and swearing for all they are worth. Their assailant, his hair a gleaming, bone-white mane in the darkness, breaks both their necks with a brisk, business-like shake, and casts the bodies aside casually. His eyes are glowing red like the fires of hell, and he does not look happy to be here.

Kain eyes me disdainfully, says: "Don't ever kick me when I'm hungry," and then lunges for my throat. 


	9. Review Responses the Return!

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REVIEW RESPONSES - THE RETURN!

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Well, I did promise, and you've all been so kind. Here goes:

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GOT: *gulps* oops. Your little sister? I had NO idea. You think I write like Pratchett? *falls to her knees Waynes World Style* We are not worthy! We are not worthy!! *blinks at you innocently* He _could _be my mutant - we could do timeshare - 

Kurt: *annoyed* Hey! A little less of the arguing, _nicht wahr?_ Timeshare?!

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Dragonseer: *bows* thankyou to you and your muse! (and yes - I worked on the story a little, as you now know!!) on balance I think I'd almost be more sorry for Kain…*grins*

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Grisabele: *looks around worriedly for the unseen Mike* Thankyou! (and are you a fan of the musical Cats by any chance?)

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Lilith: *hugs…then pulls back* Ewww…*shakes yellow globules off hands* custard…thank you for all your compliments! Yes, it's official, Raziel needs quick treatment for his obsessive-compulsive disorder. I blame the parents. *hands you a crowbar* here, this should get that mouth closed…

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Ruff Collie: *smiles* Welcome! I'm very glad you like my style! And believe me, when it first became apparent to me that Kain was going to be vital to the plot, I was surprised too. 

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MikotoTribal: Yes, I'm not very nice to her, am I? *evil grins* But then I did give her Raziel to protect her. So I think it balances out.

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Jedi-And: *hugs* Thankyou so much for the mini-fic! (Raziel and Rhianna would like you to know that they appreciate your offer of sanctuary, but owing to the demands of their evil authoress, cannot sadly take it up at this time!) I'm glad you like the dark turn of this story.

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Lunatic Pandora: "Classic"? *blinks, pleased* Wow. Thank you! I see what you mean about the boundaries of reality. Mind you, I can get confused about those in real life…! *Kain turns quickly at the distinctive Chained Prisoner chorus* Uh-oh…try not to attract his attention…

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Syvia: *hugs* Oh, I won't let him hurt her…much…*whistles innocently* And yes, he's Old Kain…*looks sly* but this may be negotiable due to the demands of the plot….*grins* gosh I'm manipulative when it comes to story characters…*fights back an urge to go "Mwahahahahaha!"*

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JD: *smiles* Thankyou! I've started, so I shall continue…

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Angel-chan: *grabs handfuls of plushies* Ahhh you know what I like! I'm really pleased you like my odd little turns of phrase. As to where they're all coming from…*looks panicky, whispers* sssh…don't tell anyone…I'm not entirely sure…but I don't think there's likely to be Janos. Sadly. L 

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Amuse Me: *takes a handful of popcorn* Thanks, I needed that! My head is still approximately the same size as it was when I began this story. I hope. 

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Space Toaster: *picks you up* I guess that was shock at seeing Kain, huh? *whispers* he does that to most people…

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Deionarra: *smiles* You don't have to be helpful. I just like to know I'm appreciated *flutters eyelashes modestly and laughs*

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Morbid Knight: Welcome! I'm very honoured that this is one of your favourite stories.

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Light: *grins and hugs* More of your stories please, Light! *takes plushie* I'm gonna have to build another shelf for these….

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Raziella D Reaver: *bows* Here's more, as requested!

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I hope I didn't miss anyone! Apologies if I have. Now! On to the next chapter…*directs reviewers with a flag and a pointer* This way please…ladies and gentlemen…^_^


	10. Just Completely The Wrong Guy

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URBAN NOSGOTHIC

Chapter Eight

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Legacy of Kain created by Eidos Interactive, Crystal Dynamics, Silicon Knights.

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Oh yes. This girl is screwed up. 

I think I'd like to point out at this particular moment that when you're about to die, your whole life does not flash before your eyes as most poetically-inclined people seem to think. I am far too busy screaming like a rabbit in a snare and wondering why oh why oh why does my throat already feel so raw? My mind is also running a side-study of demon-face-demon-eyes-white-hair-ugly - no, not truly ugly, just different - and an awful strength more terrifying than Raziel's because here I can be certain there is no mercy, none at all -

My scream breaks in my mouth as soon as I feel the almost-gentle pressure of his mouth gripping my neck. My body becomes rigid: my chest hikes up and down like a sprinter's: but I find myself unable to make a sound.

The hum of the Reaver breaks the sudden silence in the street, and I screw up my eyes against the bright glow of the wraith-blade as it hovers very close to Kain's back. 

"Drop her," says Raziel, in his best I'm-pissed-off-so-don't-mess-with-me voice. The fangs fastened in the skin of my neck tighten their grip and I feel a growl begin to vibrate in Kain's throat. 

"Drop," Raziel repeats, quieter this time, as if commanding a strange dog, and he makes a brief, warning pass with the Reaver. My neck stabs pain at me as Kain's fangs dig in viciously. From the warm path it traces over my collar I know my own blood is flowing.

The growl I can hear rumbling in his chest becomes a silken purr, almost a croon of delight. He tastes my blood and he likes it. His body, pinning me to the ground, shudders all over in ecstatic joy, just briefly, then -

Kain lets go and leaps to his feet with a furious snarl. Raziel, the Reaver humming happily on his arm, says sharply: "If you eat her, I will kill you."

He leans against the wall, pressing one claw to a particularly nasty bullet-hole in his thigh. "I may well kill you anyway, " he continues, "but eating her will not improve your chances."

"Dear Raziel," says Kain sweetly, "you're so erudite when you're bleeding."

His voice cuts through me like a winter gale. Arrogant, yes, arrogant to a fault, but full of authority, full of power. He kicks an abandoned flick-knife aside as he and Raziel start to circle each other like tigers in a cage.

"What is this place?"

"A different world."

"Why am I here?"

"I do not know."

Kain snorts. "So much for the supposed knowledge of youth. Who is this human girl?"

"She calls herself Rhianna." 

For a brief moment, two sets of inhuman eyes, one blank and glowing, one yellow and cat-pupilled, fix on me and stare. I huddle around my knees, feeling the blood congealing on my collar, and try to pretend I'm somewhere else...

Maybe I'm in my old bed at my mother's house, years away in time. The old smells of lavender and maybe toast cooking. My old ginger tomcat, long dead now, playing with the laces of my shoes -

" - with her?"

I surface from my protective daydream to see Kain gesticulating violently in my direction. Raziel is standing in front of me, arms folded. The Reaver has fled his arm and I take this as a good sign, a sign that I am not in immediate danger of having my throat ripped out.

"Calm yourself, Father," says Raziel infuriatingly. "This world is not so different to ours, in many ways. But we need Rhianna to explain things to us."

Kain throws up his arms in a gesture of helpless fury. "Explain to me why I should not just kill every piece of human vermin in this city, starting with her!"

"And what then?"

Kain looks incredulous. What more was there?

"Where will you go, Kain?" Raziel pursues. "From what Rhianna tells me, this city alone could hold a million humans. And these humans are not like ours. They know all about vampires, and how to kill us. They have these -"

Language fails him, but his claws are working eloquently enough, and he digs a piece of shot out of his leg. 

"Guns," I manage to quaver, and Kain glares at me. My heart, just beginning to calm, thumps again arrythimacally. Sweat breaks out along my collarbone, but not the ridiculously cold fear-sweats I've been suffering of late.

No. Oh no.

"Raziel, if I did not know better, I'd say that when your jaw dropped out you grew sentimentality to replace it," Kain is saying, but I am barely listening to his words anymore. I am too busy being horrified at myself, cursing myself for being who I am.

You may remember I said that I've gone through life being attracted to the wrong sort of men? Men who will dominate me, hurt me, may even be capable of killing me in the end?

Oh, my friends, I can certainly pick them. 

"Better a sentimental fool than an interesting decoration on some vampire killer's wall," says Raziel, and as if to make it clear that this discussion is over as far as he's concerned, he turns to me and holds out his hand. "Rhianna? Get up. Three men are dead. We cannot stay here."

My voice-box makes a little, strangled sound. 

"You don't have to look," he adds, almost kindly, and steers me out of the side-street. One of my trainers feels sticky as it treads, and I am far too scared to look down to see what I have trodden in. Behind me I can hear Kain's footsteps, and his occasional low growls of exasperation as he is forced to leave all this perfectly good food just lying about in the street. I try not to think about him.

After all, I'd really have to be pretty far gone to start fancying genuine demons instead of their human mimics - wouldn't I? 


	11. Coherancy

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URBAN NOSGOTHIC

Chapter Nine

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Legacy of Kain created by Eidos Interactive, Crystal Dynamics, Silicon Knights.

Thankyou for all your kind reviews! Oh, and a brief word to my anonymous reader - I'm sorry you didn't care for my story. Thankyou for reading anyway, and I hope you find other stories that are more "in character" that you will like. Although hey, what am I doing? If you didn't like that chapter, you sure as hell won't be reading this one... :)

Walking back towards the less hazardous side of town, flanked by Kain and Raziel, I recklessly begin to feel safe for the first time tonight. It is coming up to four a.m. and the streets are silent again. I haven't heard any police sirens coming to investigate the dead lying in Cattle Lane. Having plucked up the courage to check, I am able to confirm my suspicions. The white leather of my trainer is laced with clotting blood. 

Kain sees me looking, snorts, and says: "You travel with Raziel, woman, and you let a little blood distress you?"

I cannot meet his eyes.

"Don't you know what Raziel is?" he continues. "He is not some little watch-dog you can pull around on a leash to protect you on your walks in the park. He is a killer, just as I am. He killed his brothers."

Belatedly I realise that this Kain must come from the time before the events of _Soul Reaver Two _occurred. (I really have no intention of trying to go through the whole 'game' issue with him. Well. Not now, anyway). His entire demeanour demonstrates it. He is angry, yes, but part of him seems nervous. Nervous around Raziel, and especially around the Reaver. Is he worried about the unfolding of events to come? I risk a look at him, darting my gaze over his demon's face and body, being careful not to stare at him. Vampires are like cats in many ways - territorial, solitary, predatory. A stare would be a challenge, and me challenging Kain would be about as foolhardy as a kitten facing down a lion.

He is staring at me, though, and I feel his eyes burning into my forehead as I lower my face. Stupid! Stupid for drawing his attention!

"Rhianna," says Raziel, in what for him amounts to a lazy drawl, "which way now?"

Glad of the distraction, I hurry to catch him up. We are now almost at the main street, and I can see the neon glow of shop fronts.

It's a good question, and Raziel knows I'm in a quandary. He looks down at me helplessly - for all his strength, he's useless in this situation - and I struggle to think of a solution. 

I can almost feel Kain's superior grin on my back as I glance up and down the street. A staggering human presence causes both my 'bodyguards' to tense and crouch, but it is only a passing drunk, barely able to stand. He leans on the streetlamp mere metres from Raziel and I, and blinks at both of us blearily. None of us move.

The drunk eventually finds his voice and says: "Hi..."

"Hello," says Raziel, not unfriendly-like. 

"Hi," I whisper, raising my hand in a tiny wave. My over-riding worry is that the drunk will try and accost Kain, at which point no amount of alcoholic camaraderie will save him from certain death. 

But our new friend isn't interested in Kain (or, more likely, he simply hasn't managed to focus on him yet) and he simply reaches out and grasps Raziel's bound forearm. Raziel, exercising admirable restraint, does nothing immediately.

"You...yourraluckyman..." the man slurs, the words spilling out of him in a jumble. "She'sa, she's a, she'a wonderful girl. Lucky."

His vacant eyes lock onto Raziel's blue arm, and he lets go his grip.

"You look after her," he adds. And belches. If he throws up on me, I swear I'm going to cry. 

"I will," says Raziel, to my surprise and Kain's obvious disgust. He watches the drunk sway off across the road with a sort of quizzical fascination, then says, quietly, "We need to discuss some things -"

Kain strides up to us both, obviously bored (and quite likely annoyed that he is not the centre of attention), and says: "This hapless wandering is starting to try my patience, human."

"Then return to Nosgoth, if you can," snaps Raziel, whose lack of patience with his sire is obviously on a par with Kain's lack of patience with me. At Kain's furious, impotent glare he adds, "Oh, can you not? Then be silent and let her think!"

"You do not tell me what to do!"

"I will do whatever I wish," Raziel counters. " I have free will. I am not your lackey any longer."

Kain looks amused at this assertion of freedom on his fledgling's part.

"No?" he queries, maliciously. "Strange then how this small female has you running around like a mercenary to protect her. Or are you in love with her, Raziel?"

Raziel bristles noticeably.

"You always were a womaniser when you were made new," Kain continues. "But please, my boy...a human girl? And one without a tongue in her head, it seems. I'd credited you with more taste. Not that she isn't pretty enough, I suppose..."

He is circling me now, as if I were a prize thoroughbred. I half expect him to smack me on the thigh to check for muscle tone or to force open my jaws to see if I have a healthy set of teeth. And my treacherous body is betraying me again. It wants him to do it. 

Raziel says, in a voice that is little above a growl, "There is no relationship between me and her."

Kain is very close to me now, directly behind me. I don't dare move. 

"Oh really?" he purrs. "I think the relationship between you and her is all-important. Think about it."

With that he brushes past both of us, knocking shoulders with Raziel as he goes, and stalks off up the main street, not waiting for either of us. It may be my imagination, but somehow his skin looks paler than before, and his hair longer. 

Before I can properly consider the implications of this, Raziel taps me on the arm with one claw. "Can you find us somewhere to rest?" he asks. "Your neck - we should bandage it properly. You smell of blood and will attract unwanted attention."

My hand is already probing absently at the fang-marks in my skin as I watch Kain pace up the street, and in a sudden moment of crystal clarity I know where it'll be safe to take them.

I think, you see, that I finally figured it out. Oddly, enough, it was Kain's words that triggered the possibilities in my mind. It's as I creep to the public phone in the dingy cloakroom hall to make the phone call that's been preying on my mind ever since Cattle Lane that I begin to put the pieces together.

The voice on the other end of the phone makes a weary query.

"Yes, police?" I manage. "Can you send someone out to Cattle Lane? I think there's been a fight. Maybe drugs. I think some men are hurt."

The voice, suddenly interested, begins to fire other questions, but I hang up. Safety in anonymity. And besides, they're probably looking for me already, to "help them with their enquiries" regarding my boyfriend.

Raziel turned up exactly when I needed him. So did Kain. One saved me from death, the other from the fabled fate worse than death. Reluctant white knights or not, they rescued me. 

In fairy tales, the heroine is often saved by a Mysterious Stranger who turns up in the nick of time to kill the dragon or stop the wedding. But fairy tales have a great advantage over real life. They stop. They have an ending, a happy ever after. 

This princess is never going to be happy, so no ending. Are my rescuers going to be stuck here with me for the rest of my life? I have sudden visions of them sat in adjoining prison cells, being taken out periodically for scientific tests, of Raziel causing havoc by phasing in and out through the cell bars and of Kain eventually being put down like a rabid dog because he is too dangerous to keep...

So, my train of thought continues as I return through the smoky haze to the bar where I left them, if I'm taking it as gospel the ridiculous idea that I have somehow summoned the pair of them from their Playstation limbo to aid me in my hour (or, as it's turning out, twenty-four hours) of need - how the hell do I get them to go back?


	12. How Minds can Mould The Body

**URBAN NOSGOTHIC**

**Chapter 10**

_Legacy of Kain created by Eidos Interactive, Crystal Dynamics, Silicon Knights._

_*waves* Yes, me and Raz are back from our week's holiday..._

_Raziel: *whispers* Do you think they missed us?_

_V.A.: They might have missed you. I doubt they missed me. Anyway. On with the story...proper review responses next chapter! *blinks* Honest. Many, many thanks to all who have read so far and let me know that they're enjoying it. ^_^_

It's a goth club, of course. 

Kain lounges on the bar, grinning at the wannabe vamps and anorexic Brides of Dracula that still huddle in corners of the club, even at this hour in the morning. Raziel is trying to remain inconspicuous, hunched over the peanut bowl with his cowl drawn up even further than normal. He needn't worry. Under the bizarre red lights of the club, even his blue skin seems merely pale and washed-out. So long as he keeps his talons hidden below the bar, he'll pass.

Why didn't I think of this before? The same way as the great philosophers said: "the best place to hide a leaf is in a forest..." the best place to hide a vampire is in a goth club. 

I take an indulgent moment's time out to look at them both. Raziel is now a comfortably alien sight to my eyes: I no longer have to control the urge to run a mile at the sight of him. And Kain?

Now I have a chance to look at him, really look at him, I can see I'm not imagining it after all, and my heart staggers in dismay.

He's _changing_.

The greenish, bony structure of the old vampire's face is fading like the memory of a dream. His sharp cheekbones jut up through skin now porcelain white, and his white hair is not receded as far back on his high forehead as before. 

I stop in mid-step, suddenly unwilling to approach him. If I brought him here - am I somehow doing this to him, too? I half-choke, disgusted with the concept, and Kain's head flicks up alertly at the sound. He grins again - no, leers - and beckons me back to join them at the bar. _Masochist_, my mind scolds at me, _you could have coped with him when he was more demonic…but now? Ohh, now you're in trouble, girly._

I had been overjoyed when _Blood Omen 2_ came out, and immersed myself for as long as I dared every day in the problems facing Meridian. Young Kain had been irresistibly arrogant, powerful...and merciless. Thinking about it now, Old Kain was by far the safest of the pair. What am I doing? Swapping a jaded but wiser old megalomaniac for a young savage...I must be crazy. My eyes, against my own better judgement, are drawn to him again and I cannot look away.

His eyes are twin hungry red glows in the dim, smoky atmosphere, and the fangs poke over his dark lower lip in a pseudo-friendly, snaggle-toothed manner. 

I look at Raziel in a sudden panic. Am I going to be changing him, too, to suit my bad taste in men? But he seems unchanged, the cowl hugging his jawless skull, his ragged wings tucked in against his starvation-thin back. Maybe it's because I'm not so familiar with his vampire shape - or maybe Raziel's body itself resists such a radical change after so long.

Two passing girls, one in a Cradle of Filth T-shirt and the other swamping her acne-scarred face in white foundation, catch Kain's eye and one licks her lips. Kain purrs in his throat and seems about to move. I hold my breath, but an expertly flicked peanut smacks directly into Kain's ear. Kain looks at Raziel in wordless fury, and Raziel coolly rolls another peanut across the counter: but the intervention has come in time, and the girls have moved on. 

To avoid a family scene, I pluck up my courage to rejoin them - although the temptation to abandon them was present in my mind, believe me. I know Kain is watching me, but although it makes me feel vulnerable to attack, I turn my back on him and address Raziel. 

"I have to go home."

His white eyes widen. 

"And so do I," he says. 

Kain is suddenly very, very close to my back. I can sense him the way a rabbit senses the hawk, and my skin crawls. The mark on my neck tingles. I'm sure it must be psychosomatic. 

"Go home?" he queries. "What for, Raziel? Unfinished business?"

"You are starting to bore me," says Raziel, evenly. "Rhianna, why do you want to go back to that place? The policemen will find you. Your mate will find you. You will get hurt."

"Why do you care?" Kain interrupts, rudely, and Raziel starts eyeing the peanut bowl again. "Let her get hurt if she wants to. Humans all have the brains of ticks." His hand slams down on the bar right next to mine, his arm brushing past me. I tense up for all the wrong reasons as his clawed fingers graze across mine. "Or maybe she likes to get hurt," his voice purrs from just behind my ear, soft, insinuating: then louder, "Raziel, if you have some kind of emotional attachment to this creature, why don't you let me deal with her and then together we can deal with the greater problem - the Sarafan Lord..."

Now it's Raziel's turn to double-take. "What are you talking about?" he snaps. And all in a rush he realises what I realised in the doorway - that Kain is no longer quite the vampire he used to be an hour ago. Kain is now so close that I can smell him. 

_Maybe she likes to get hurt..._

Because of course that's me all over, isn't it, and he knows it. I never believed all the stuff you read in Anne Rice and Laurell Hamilton novels. I always believed, vampires are vampires. Yes, they may be beautiful. But even man-eating lions are beautiful. 


	13. More Review Responses!

**THE REVENGE OF THE REVIEW RESPONSES!!**

*waves* Well, I promised, so here you go. Plenty of blood and angst in the next chapter *points* over that way. Not for the faint of heart ^_^

**Lilith**: *hides jar of custard behind back* Thank you so much for the encouragement! Yes, Rhianna has a very twisted mind. It's twisting in an entirely bad direction. *picks last piece of catsuit off neck and shudders* Raz! You missed a bit!!! And don't worry, wibbling isn't contagious, everyone…

**Space Toaster:** *bows* Thankies. Glad to see you still like it!

**Concept of a demon:** Yeah, he is a psycho, isn't he? And he's about to get worse…he has major jealousy issues, you're right. *whistles innocently* someone got wings and he didn't…

**????**: Sorry Raz was too weak for you. He didn't seem that weak to me.

**Shadowrayne****:** *catches Raz toy* Yeeee! Thankyou! And I have a soft spot for Rhianna. She's no Lara Croft, that's for sure.

**Syvia****:** *mutters something about how sexy voices can cause a whole heap of trouble* No coffin sex! At all! *coughs and shouts out the room* Rhi!! Put the cream down and step AWAY from the vampire… 

**Angel-Chan:** *waves* Hope you enjoyed your retreat! *takes plushies* I'm not planning a romantic pairing for Rhi and Raz…he's still too blue and corpse-like at the moment!!

**Imuthis****:** *smiles* Welcome! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. I do try to make my chapters longer..honest…*joins in the dancing*

**Jedi-And:** *eyes Raziel and the bottle of BBQ sauce* Hey…don't give him any ideas!

**AmuseMe****:** *sighs* Why do we do it to ourselves? *glares at Kain* I was a little worried about turning him young and I'm really pleased you thought it went well.

**Light:** *hugs* Thankyou. I love the idea of painting with words. Very nice phrase, and I'm flattered.

**JD:** *bows and smiles* Thankyou. I don't think the weasels are required right now, thanks, but I'll let you know!

**Lunatic Pandora:** *grins* She's just naturally a wallflower. She can't help it, sadly!

**Morbid Knight:** *smiles at the applause* Thankyou!

**Tanaquil****:** *hugs* You're back! And you're so right. Two of them *shudders* ugh. Ugh ugh.

**PsychoVirus83:** *chuckles* glad you like the descrips. 

**Natasha Compagnon:** *waves* Welcome! I'm so pleased you enjoyed this tale even though it's not your "thing"! and we're glad to see you too! *V.A. & Raz wave and cheer*

**Anima Flamma:** Yup…you got it! ^_^

_*blinks* weird…the site seems to think I don't have some reviews I know I should have…I can't recall them all, sadly, but welcomes and gratitude go out to _**Soulshard**_*waves* Thankyou!! - and _**Guardian**_? *Kurt looks scandalised* I'll have to wash your mouth out!! *grins*_


	14. Breaking Point

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URBAN NOSGOTHIC

Chapter 11

Raziel is out of his seat in seconds, and he is spitting out his words as if they are poisoning him.

"What is this?" he snarls. "What has happened to you?"

Kain frowns. Of course, he doesn't know, he can't see the changes in himself. "Poor Raziel, are your wits finally decaying along with the rest of your pitiful frame?"

And all in one horrible moment I see Raziel lose it. 

Maybe, my ever-active brain reasons as I dive out of the way of a raging, incoherent ex-vampire, maybe the sight of Kain, his destroyer, regaining youth and beauty where his own are lost forever was too much for him. Perhaps a reminder of his past he could have done without. A vastly surprised and furious Kain slams onto the bar, back first, Raziel's claws at his throat. The barman drops behind the counter as peanuts and broken glass shower down on both of us. 

"Die now," suggests Raziel, sounding quite calm. Ironic really. I'd been worried about Kain causing havoc in society, and in the end it is Raziel's temper that has failed us. There is a moment's grace before Kain's eyes flare up like embers and he lashes out with one hand, moving too fast for the naked eye to follow.

Berserk.

It had been one of my favourite moves. It wasn't perhaps as impressive as Immolate, but I had always preferred it for some reason. Raziel is not expecting it, and hits the back wall of the club, hard. The glow of his pale eyes dims slightly as his consciousness wanes. I share a glance with the terrified barman and think, _what if Raziel is defeated? What will happen to me then? And everyone else here?_

The thought that I might be responsible for releasing Kain onto my unwitting world, on top of everything else, makes me want to curl up and cry for my own weakness, my own stupidity. My eyesight blurs as the tears come, uncalled, and streak my face wet. 

Raziel rises like the Kraken from the deep, and hurls himself at Kain. A table breaks as Kain lands on it heavily, backhanded by a swipe from the Reaver. There is screaming now, as the patrons flee the club, and soon there will be more sirens, more police, more danger.

I hear my own sobbing above the hissing of the angry vampires, and the reality of the situation starts to fade. Because this can't be happening. Really. It can't. I'm not really on the run from the police who think I tried to kill my drug dealer boyfriend, and I can't be about to be killed in a goth-club brawl, I can't hear chairs breaking and bottles shattering, and I can't, I can't, I can't....

"You can't what?"

I hadn't realised I was speaking aloud.

There is suddenly a horrible silence in the club, save for a few crackles of what sounds like static. I dare to look for the source of that sound.

The jukebox has crumpled in a heap of CDs and broken plastic. Electricity from torn cabling jumps and sparks cheerfully around the fallen body of Raziel, who is lying in an undignified sprawl with his back twisted around a cracked joist. The Reaver flickers in and out of existence around his arm. 

__

Oh, Raziel...

Seeing him broken like this somehow hurts me more than all the rest of the shit that has gone down tonight. This fight was my fault. Okay, my fault in a crazy, illogical way, but still my fault. And just as his body is broken, so, finally, am I. I have no fight left in me. A swift look through my mental eye confirms, yes, I would rather be arrested, rather be killed, than continue with tonight. The show's over. Elvis has left the building....

"Can't what?"

Kain repeats his question as he bends over my shuddering form. I feel his claws brush my hand where it lies outflung, and there is bluish blood on them. Even as he touches me, Raziel's hooves kick out as he tries to move his snapped spine. He wants to help me, or maybe to try one last time to kill his nemesis, I don't know. But he can't.

"Can't _what_, human?"

Kain laughs. He strokes my curled back as one would pet a dog. "Can't talk, maybe?" His arms reach under me, and I am unresisting as he lifts me effortlessly from the floor to perch me on the bar so I can look at him eye to eye. But my eyes are only for Raziel, the glow of his own eyes darkening as his life-force slips away. "Can't look at me, it seems," says Kain, and his tone holds all the threat of gathering storm clouds. "Odd. You couldn't drag your eyes away from me earlier."

He leans in, and now I am all awareness of him, and particularly his teeth, as he rudely shoves his head into the hollow between my neck and my shoulder. He is scenting me, not biting, and yet it is so dreadful, so invasive - "Can't resist?" he murmurs, his fangs scoring across the nape of my neck without drawing blood.

But all I can see is Raziel as he fades, the pale flickering of the Reaver the last bit to vanish, until there is only the smoking ruin of the juke, and he is gone, quite gone.

Kain sighs, happily, as if he has been waiting for Raziel's demise before he moved in, and he strikes at my neck, tearing open the bite that has only just begun to heal.

As if this is a catalyst, my numbness falls away from me to leave only a great raw pain, and I scream until I think my throat is torn both inside and out. He laughs. The blood is flowing out too fast, as if he is summoning it forth. I recall school days spent in gym class doing headstands. All the blood draining to my head until I felt quite dizzy - and this is the same, only the blood is draining away...

My arms flail hopelessly, and as my head lolls back, I can see my grubby trainers stained bright red with the overspill of my own blood. Red shoes. Ruby slippers...My lunatic brain chatters,_ Auntie Em, Auntie Em! There's no place like home...there's no place like home..._

Kain crushes my body to his and shakes me like a ragdoll. I feel at least one rib give under the strain, but somehow it no longer seems important. It seems distant...happening to someone else. Someone speaking to me?

I feel Kain's lips close to my ear. He snarls: "Can't what _now_, little human girl?"

And Raziel, seeming almost to glow with power and renewed vitality, steps out of the spectral realm right behind him and snaps, "Can't _die_, old man."


	15. Director's Cut

****

URBAN NOSGOTHIC

Chapter 12

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Firstly, apologies to you, **bahamut**…I imagine owing to FFnet's little problems lately your review was lost before it got to me! But thankyou anyway ^_^. Secondly, apologies again to all those who want longer chapters *ducks expected barrage of rotten fruit* as this one is particularly short, even by my standards - and also - this is a shameless cliffhanger. Oh yes.

I see Kain's features contort in fury for scant seconds before Raziel swings the wraith-blade around in a vicious arc, aiming to maim. Kain's expression is incandescant, not even vaguely human, and belatedly I realise that no matter what a vampire's age, the demon is always there. The cool, fine-profiled beauty common to younger vampires is only a thin paper mask for the demon that will unfold from beneath their skin as their age drifts into centuries. Age merely offers a physical show-case for the demon: it does not create it. And if this experience doesn't cure me of fancying bad boys, nothing will.

Faster than I could have believed possible, Kain is off me and flat against the back wall, hissing like a scalded cat. But he is not dead, not even seriously wounded. My eyes are dragged to the gem that he now wears on his chest like a drop of alien blood. His clothes have shifted, too - some sort of dark body-suit with armour at the shoulder and knee.

The Reaver is powerless to hurt him now, now that he is young again. Slumped across the taps on the bar, I try to raise my hand to staunch the blood-flow at my neck, but my arm feels leaden and my brain feels stuffed with cotton-wool.

Raziel, to his credit, does not seem overly surprised at this new development. At some internal command, the wraith-blade vanishes into his arm like smoke, and he takes a swipe with his claws at his sire. If magical weaponry fails you, try good old brute force and ignorance. Kain sidesteps, flicks out a leg. Raziel performs a standing leap that would have done a harrier jump-jet proud, wings catching the air, and his outflung hoof smacks Kain in the jaw.

This seems to buy him a few seconds as Kain's jawbone makes an ugly cracking noise, which the white-haired vampire folds himself around with a screech of pain and fury. I try to call to Raziel through lips that barely want to move, and manage to murmur: "…rrrrraaaaa…."

Raziel hurries to my side, his claws pressed to the gory hole in my neck. Is he checking for a pulse or trying to stop the blood from flowing? 

"You're not going to die," he says brusquely, and am I imagining a hint of concern in his voice, I wonder? "Stay still."

Kain, a few drops of his own blood staining his flawless cheekbones, flips to his feet and stands poised to attack. I must have blacked out: because when awareness returns to me I am upside-down, slung over Raziel's shoulder, and my neck is just starting to really cause me pain. 

"You don't dare," says Raziel's voice (with my ear pressed to his back, his voice reverberates through his body and sounds echoey. I think I'm going insane, because the sound almost makes me giggle, despite the situation). "You don't dare attack me again, master vampire or not. You know what I am, Kain. You made me."

Kain's voice sounds a long way off as he replies: "You are mad, Raziel. Your old Sarafan allegiances are poisoning your mind. Come back with me to Meridian. Together we can finish him. I would take you back, you know. I would let you rule at my side."

I feel Raziel's wing muscles shift under me: Kain's remarks are obviously putting his hackles up. Sirens wail in the streets outside. The local police must be wondering what's got into their town tonight. 

I try to move my head, and my neck protests so strongly that I whimper. 

"No," says Raziel, simply. "Never with you, never again." Apparently deciding he is no longer under immediate threat of attack, he shifts me into his arms so that my neck is better supported. I make several incoherent sounds as the move is effected, because the pain is really becoming unbearable now. Odd. When you watch hospital dramas, you always think that when the badly wounded are delirious with pain, they are not really aware of what else goes on around them. It's not true. Although the pain occupies my every living second like an invading army rising to the attack, I can see every detail of the club, see Kain's eyes as they glow like a deer's in the headlights of approaching patrol cars. He is still tense, still prepared to spring, but seems wary, too. 

Raziel looks down at me. "Rhianna, where can I take you?" he asks. "Do you have family who can tend to you until you heal?"

Does he want the long answer or the short answer? 

"…n-no….hospital…"

My voice sounds as weak as wind whistling through a crack in a door, but at least I'm still talking.

"Hospital. What is it and where?"

Things are starting to go grey again. 

"Rhi, please." Raziel's voice is still calm. "If you don't stay awake…I need you to direct me…"

I am vaguely aware of Kain turning with a snarl towards the door. Cars are drawing up outside.

__

I need you to direct me…

Of course, I think as the comfortable greyness swims over me, and I thought Kain wasn't paying attention. Raziel and I had explained the 'game' situation to him, but he had seemed immensely non-plussed by the concept and dismissed it almost instantly. He hadn't seemed interested. But he'd understood all along. _That_ was why Raziel was protecting me…

__

I think the relationship between you and her is all-important. Think about it…

Just when I'd been about to give up on it, the greyness engulfs me, and all the pain, all the knowing, is quite gone.

__

So just what has Rhi realised at last? Answers on a postcard, please…thankyou for all your reviews so far, and keep 'em coming :)


	16. Faithful Servant

**URBAN NOSGOTHIC**

**Chapter 13**

_*bounces* I just realised! This is my first fic to get over 100 reviews!! *cheers* Thankyou all so much for reviewing, and proper responses soon ^_^_

Awake.

Am I really awake? everything's so bright. White lights, white sheets, white cotton swabs in a little dish at my bedside...

I must be in hospital after all. I twist my neck experimentally. If this has all been a dream, then my neck shouldn't hurt...ow.

Damnit. Puts paid to that idea, then.

I _am in hospital. In one of the smaller wards. Judging from the occupants of the beds either side of me, this is the "Drive-By Shootings and Crimes of Actual Bodily Harm" ward. _

I think the guy in the bed on my right has actually died, and no-one's noticed yet. Help. 

No-one seems to care that I'm awake, either. There's a nurse on duty at a smallish desk a few beds away, but she's not looking my way. The vampires. Where are the vampires?

Maybe they were arrested when I passed out in the club. Maybe they were gunned down by the police. Hell, they might even have to have called out a SWAT team to take those two down. I feel really odd. I wonder if they've given me new blood to replace that which Kain took? Maybe I should go back to sleep for a while...I feel tired still. 

When I open my eyes again, there's a policewoman sat in the little wooden chair next to my bed, and she's looking at me shrewdly. "Glad to see you're awake," she says. "Do you feel up to answering a few questions?"

I say nothing. To be honest, I' m not even sure my vocal chords still work after the savaging my throat has taken. I pretend to drift off again, my eyelids fluttering, but really I'm in the first stages of panic. What should I say? what can I say that will possibly make any sense?

"Rhianna, can you hear me?"

I try to twist in bed. They've got me hooked up to an IV drip, and it pulls painfully at my hand.

"Rhianna, it's very important that you help us if you can."

And it's then that I feel it. Like a little twitch in my mind, like hearing someone laugh several rooms away. I open my eyes to see if the cop feels it too. She's watching me the way a lion-tamer watches his charges - as if I were something large and dangerous in a cage. Strange. No-one's ever looked at me that way before.

The laugh in my mind comes again, and with it a scent in my mouth and sinuses - a musky scent like summer and tom-cats. Kain. I'll remember that scent till the day I die. 

But where is he?

The cop frowns slightly. "Did you hear -?"

Then her eyes go wide and blank, and she stands up from her chair with a dislocated, swaying motion that reminds me of a marionette with half its strings cut, and she moves to the door of the ward, goes through it, without a word or sound.

She does not come back.

I reach out, manage to locate the call-button, and am about to press it when I hear that low mental chuckle again.

_Don't push...your luck, little human girl._

The sound of his voice makes me tense up and my stomach knots viciously. I tuck my hand back under the coverlet pointedly. Not disobeying Kain. No way. Uh-uh.

Instead I sit up against the pillows, start checking out my surroundings in more detail. There are six other people in beds in this room, including the guy I'm sure has left this mortal realm for good. The nurse - why look, she's getting up too, walking to the door with her eyes as blank as a piece of zerox paper, going through it with all a sleepwalker's grace. How's about that? Now there's only me, the dead guy, and five other people in various stages of insensibility. 

Oh, I am going to need _soooo much therapy for this. I start giggling rustily in my throat, and stop it in a hurry as Raziel pushes the door quietly and enters the ward, his claw-hooves clicking on the floor._

He looks so utterly out of place in this white, sterile world. After all, this is a place where life is restored to the dying - not where the dead walk in of their own accord. 

"Rhi." He shears through the IV with one claw and pulls back the covers. Thank God they left me in my street clothes. "Let's go."

Hey, don't I actually need that drip? Shouldn't I stay here until I'm better?

He lifts me quickly from the bed. "Raziel...you should go...leave me...I'm sick.."

"No, I really shouldn't," he responds. 

Ooh, I love the concern. But still -

"Because your mate is here."

Oh. Not concern, then. Fine.

"And I won't be able to hold Kain off from killing people for much longer."

I can see Kain, now. He is standing outside the ward with his hands pressed to his temples, as if suffering some vampire migraine, and in front of him the cop and the nurse are standing like zombies in some bad movie, their expressions slack. Of course. Charm. Not a quality I think I'll personally ever associate with Kain again.

Raziel backs through the door, carrying me in his arms as if I weighed no more than a kitten, and Kain doesn't even acknowledge I am there. His concentration is palpable, although I can still feel his touch in my mind - it feels like he's amused at my being alive, amused at his own reaction to me. 

But of course he realised how this worked long before I did. He opens his bright red eyes for a second, looks at me.

_Your...wish is my...command..._

How many people is he controlling? How long before he over-taxes even his immense abilities? 

I look up at Raziel, and he turns his white-blank eyes down to me. Trusting. Serving me faithfully. Oh, no. Please.

"Take me back to my home, Raziel," I say. 

It turns out the boys have been pretty busy since I blacked out.

They skipped the club before the police came, and on Raziel's insistence, they left me behind. He must've figured that other humans would see to it that I got the treatment I needed. Kain, apparently, had been dragged away under pain of pain, because he wanted to fight all comers. 

They had hidden out in the park a few streets away until the ambulance came for me, then they'd both jumped the ambulance and ridden on its roof all the way to the hospital. Once there, Kain had charmed half the staff in order to get Raziel into the wards without arousing suspicion. No mean feat, considering how much he'd been trying to kill me a short time previous. 

And once there, Raziel had seen what I, thankfully, had not. 

My boyfriend had been there, in the same hospital, being treated for a severe laceration wound in the shoulder. According to Raziel, who is bringing me up to speed while he carries me through the backstreets of my city as the dawn is just beginning to pale the sky on the horizon, he had his arm in a tight surgical sling and was raising hell with both the police and the medical staff. 

"They won't believe him if he tells them," says Raziel, as he sets me down gently outside my front door. The door itself is closed, and there is a thin strip of police cordon across the wooden panels. Kain tears this off. He must just be a natural vandal.

I wish I could tell Raziel that it's not what my boyfriend tells the police that I'm worried about anymore. It's what will happen if he comes home and finds me. And he will come, I know it.

I unlock the door and walk back into my house, leaning a little on Raziel's arm.

The box of the _Soul Reaver game is still on the sofa where I left it, minus its manual (must ask Raziel what it was he did with that) and I can see Kain eyeing up the _Blood Omen 2_ case with interest. I pick the _Soul Reaver_ case up, look at Raziel. His eyes narrow slightly, and he makes an empty gesture with his claws._

_If you say jump...I say, how high?_

I turn to Kain. "Thank you," I manage to say. "Thank you for coming back for me."

He looks, for one unguarded moment, completely bewildered. "I had very little choice in the matter," he snaps, and I know he doesn't mean Raziel's threats. 


	17. Righteous Indignation

**URBAN NOSGOTHIC**

**Chapter 14**

_I'm saving up my review responses until the next time, because…this is the penultimate chapter!  Thank you so much to all my readers for all your support - you're all stars.^_^_

Looking at Kain, I am reminded of a time once, when I was very small, I saw in my parent's back yard a huge old ginger tom-cat, all scars and heavy cat-muscle. He had prowled past my play-mat and favoured me with a single glare from his low-browed, inhuman eyes, and then he had been gone. But his memory had lingered in my nightmares for a week or more afterwards.

To a six-year-old, he had been a tiger, a vast threatening presence in my safe little garden. And now I had the real thing, the tiger on my porch, the vampire in my lounge.

But he knows that I know that he knows that I know he knows I know….

I snap out of it and say: "Kain?"

He glares. Time to put theory into practice. I don't speak aloud, I just think really hard, as hard as I can.

_One step._

When he doesn't move I push harder, putting all my terror and my pain into it (_what if this doesn't work? What if he tries to kill me again?), until I can almost see in my mind's eye his booted foot taking that step._

He jolts forward, almost as if I have shoved him hard in the small of the back. Raziel is watching us calmly, the Reaver absent from his grip, his weight leant casually on one hoof. I exhale in a gasp of relief (it would be pure relief, but I can't conceal even from myself the edge of delirious satisfaction) and think, somewhat crazily: _good boy. Well done, Kain! Now roll over! Roll over, boy!_

Fortunately my control only seems to extend to non-insane requests, because I would never have been able to forgive myself had Kain suddenly flung himself on his back like a puppy. As it is, he merely stands, still glaring. But he does not move

My delight only lasts for a few seconds, before that nasty little voice that we all have inside us says: _but if you can control them - what the hell does that say about you, girl? He bit you. Not once, but twice. He tried to kill you. Make you dead._

And then of course I hear Kain's voice again_ - Maybe she wants to be hurt…_

God, I am a psychological screw-up. I summon supernatural aid to save me in my time of need - and then, perversely, my own psyche turns on me and makes my rescuer my torturer once again. Fairy tales are bullshit, children. They only come true for those who are pure and untouched in heart and mind. Otherwise you know damn well that Prince Charming had Snow White chained to the sink and popping out his ugly thuggish children right left and centre. Because if you have dreams - some day my prince will come - then you will in the end discover that when your dream comes true it is, by its very nature, no longer a dream. And that's when it becomes reality, boring, ugly, simplistic, cruel reality. I start to feel vulnerable. I need support -

Raziel's claw closes on my shoulder. "Rhi?"

"I'm - all right, Raziel." And to my own surprise, I'm telling the truth. I'm logy with drugs, unsteady through loss of blood, but I'm okay. I am okay. I am feeling almost calm. His claw feels smooth and cool on the bandages. I can do this. Wow. For the first time in my life.

Kain sits down on the sofa with a huff of boredom, and starts thumbing through the manual to _Blood Omen 2. Occasionally he will snort in annoyance as some discrepancy of plot or underplaying of his abilities is made known to him. _

Raziel and I walk out to the kitchen. More police tape here, and the blood on the floor where my boyfriend was skewered by the Reaver has been cordoned off. The sky is pink with new sunlight, and birds are chattering in the garden. Raziel's head and eyes turn to follow the flight of sparrows under the eaves.

Has this really only been one night? I feel at least twenty years older.  But now, as I look out to the dawn and see the unfamiliar play of new natural light on Raziel's wasted frame, I feel that odd sense of peace stealing over me again. 

A scuff of boot-tip on the lino, and I turn, the old angst clutching at my chest. Kain has left his book - he is now standing in the kitchen doorway, peeking out at the sunlight with an indefinable look on his sharp face. His boots are well inside the pool of shadow thrown by the fridge.

"Rhianna," says Raziel, his eyes still on the flight of the birds as they dive and swoop around the washing line. "Is it time for us to leave?"

I cannot answer. Suddenly I am sick with the idea of his leaving, as if he were the best friend I never had.

"Would you come with me?"

The question nearly knocks me off my feet. I notice that he says, "me" and not "us" - I rather fancy Kain would not be at ease in my company, nor I in his, if we all returned to Nosgoth. Who knows what, if any, influence I would have over them once on their home turf. I goggle up at him, and he is still gazing outside, not looking at me. I want to say something beautiful, something profound. I want it to be like in the movies.

But what I say is, "I - is that possible? - I can't."

"I understand." 

His answer is too quick. He knew - of course he knew - what my answer had to be. His claw brushes across my head, briefly. "You are too fragile for Nosgoth, little one. You are just coming out of darkness, and I would be callous to drag you back into the shadows with me."

The sun starts to shimmer above the horizon, and I hear a further scuffle as Kain retreats to the lounge. This is starting to feel like an uncomfortable moment I once had when I was ten. My cousin had come to stay and my mother had been insistent that I hugged him goodbye. He had been unwilling, and so had I (after all, every ten-year-old girl knows that boys are full of germs), and so we had stood a foot or so apart, shuffling rebelliously, neither willing to give in. So it is with Raziel and I. We stand, and we shuffle, but we cannot say goodbye.

I mean, surely he's absolutely _crawling_ with germs.

I am just about to open my mouth to say something stupid and trite, when I hear the front door slam open and all thoughts flee my head. My internal juke-box, hot-wired for panic situations, burbles: _your boyfriend's back and you're gonna be in trouble…hey-la, hey-la, your boyfriend's back_. And he is. Larger than life and angry as hell.

He takes his time getting to the kitchen, long enough for me to notice Kain slip out from behind the door and start stalking him. Raziel, at my back, stands perfectly still. For once, he's not protecting me. Why? 

"I knew you'd be here."

He suddenly strikes, too fast. A slap across my face. Kain is a mere foot behind him, but like Raziel he now seems frozen. Why won't they move?

My cheek stings, but compared  "You're coming with me. To the police. I told them you took the gear and tried to kill me. You're going to tell them that too."

He wants me to take his fall. After all this. The disbelief is a welcome distraction from the fear. I shake my head and say, "No."

I think it's the first time I've said no to him in six months. His face drops, becomes pale and waxy with rage and, I realise, fear.

I've never managed to frighten him before.

Raziel shifts his weight, meaningfully, and Kain, behind my boyfriend, snaps his fangs together to make his presence known. But they remain in position. I try to think at them, _kill him, stop him_ - but the focus is somehow gone and they make no move.

My boyfriend leans in, and speaks low, menacingly. "You listen to me and you mind me," he says. "You are coming with me, and you will tell them exactly what I tell you to tell them. I'm not going to prison, do you hear me?"

"No." I can't believe it's my voice. I sound like a toddler defying her father. 

"No what?"

"No, I won't do it!"

"Yes, you will!"

"I won't!"

And as if my raised voice were a signal, Kain and Raziel move. 

Kain grasps my boyfriend lovingly by the throat, pulling his head back so the neck is exposed, and Raziel draws his arm back to allow the Reaver full room to flower around his wrist and forearm.

"Is this a human I _can_ kill?" I hear Kain ask Raziel, dryly, and the man in their grasp shudders and kicks, but to no avail. 

Raziel hesitates, and lowers his sword arm. Quickly, he digs into a fold of his cowl, and brings out the manual for _Soul Reaver_, slightly ragged at the edges where his claws have torn the delicate pages.

He glances at me, and I could swear those blank eyes look amused. He taps Kain on the arm to attract his attention. Kain looks exasperated, but turns anyway, keeping his death-grip steady on my boyfriend's neck (his face is starting to go purple instead of pale). 

There is a moment of consultation between the two vampires, and a great deal of turning of the manual's pages. Kain sighs in irritation, but Raziel seems insistent. Eventually, he turns to me, while Kain snaps my boyfriend into an arm-lock behind him.

"Rhianna - if you will not come with us…."

He pauses, and Kain concludes for him.

"…can we take _him_ instead?"

He shakes my boyfriend for emphasis.

And I do the only thing possible. I burst out laughing.


	18. Last Time for

**LAST TIME OUT…REVIEW RESPONSES**

_*sniffs* Well…it's done…last chapter that way…*points*_

_I'd just like to apologise to anyone who misunderstood – Chapter 14 wasn't the finish, it was just the penultimate (next to last) chapter. So I hope you'll all still read this one! *grins*_

Natasha Compagnon: Rhianna spends a lot of time being temporarily insane. It's why I get on so well with her. J I do write a lot, its true. I get bored easily.

Lilith: *grins* don't we just love a heroic Raziel? And thankyou for being so nice about my descriptions. I try my best. *Raziel hits VA with a spoon* And you're quite right about why the boys didn't defend Rhi…

Morbid Knight: *grins* I don't think "falling in love" would be right…but they do have a strong connection…

Tom T. Thomsen: here is more! *looks hopeful*

Angel-chan: *hands over bandages for wounded foot* I hope this will make you a little less confused now! The words were a) in Rhi's head and b) Kain doing his telepathy thang. And yes – there's more…

AmuseMe: *ducks* don't tell me..still too short updates…and I was very pleased myself with Raz the jump-jet *sniggers* and I always loved Kain's Charm ability. Very handy at parties.

Shadowrayne: *grins and does the Go RAZ GO cheerleading dance* hope you're less confused now!

Imuthis: Oh yeah, she's nuts. *grins* I'm sorry about the tenses. I think I forget what time-frame I'm in sometimes. And yes, 100 reviews, look! It's a miracle ^_^ I'm sorry it took me more than a minute to finish the story. Hope you forgive!

Jedi-And: *smiles* Thankyou! You're way too kind, really. Sure! Here's the last bit of the story for ya.

Concept of a demon: *grins* Thanks for the postcard. And you win the Raz-prize for being right. *hands over Raziel plushie* Look! I continued!

Lunatic Pandora: Awww. But Kain is such a GOOD bad boy *winks* Sadly Rhi is not all that brave. She does get better though, as you saw!

Soulshard: *smiles* I think it was ffnet that swallowed your review, and…you're welcome. ^_^

Bahamut: *blinks* underwear…melon…*shakes head to clear images* I hope my Kain grew on you over time…oh, that sounds dubious…and I did read your fic! I'm sure I did!

RazKat: *grins* love your username. Must show you the piccy I drew of a Raz-cat sometime…Glad you enjoyed my characterisation!

Sereda: Hello! So glad you like it (and I was very smug about the title when I though of it, mwhahahahaha….!) and yes! The typo…um…will have to replace that…..*shuffles* thanks for mentioning it!

Psycho Virus: *grins* I loved that line too. Genius? *blushes* she's so nice to me…she even put me on her website…

Lord Sesshoumorru : *grins* you got a tag! At last! *hugs*

Space Toaster: *chuckles* No, Kain's always like that…*boyfriend expires under beating*

Krystal5kid: I do see what you mean about the modern stuff. Glad you liked the descrips!

MikotoTribal: *hugs* welcome back! Really glad you're enjoying it! That twist surprised me when I thought of it. But…it seemed fitting *grins*

GoT: *hugs* Congrats! Glad to see you back! And yes…not a snack..

Saz: *smiles* See? It's not over quite yet…hope you enjoy..

Light: *hugs* Thankyou! Write more yourself!

51: *waves* Hello! Thankyou very much for your flattery! *shuffles* too kind…

Tanaquil: *hugs* Welcome back! So glad you like!

_I hope I got everyone! Apologies if I missed anyone out. Now on to the final chapter!_


	19. My Game

**URBAN NOSGOTHIC**

**Chapter 15**

Raziel does not respond to my outburst – he lets me have my moment and I am grateful to him, because to be honest I don't think my brain could have taken in any explanation while it was still reeling from the idea of my boyfriend in Nosgoth. But when the cackling eventually subsides he says: "It would seem to be the perfect solution.,.."

I look into my boyfriend's furious and terrified face.

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Kill him?" suggests Raziel, as off-hand as if he'd been suggesting we all go out for nachos. He looks at Kain, who hikes his sculpted eyebrows in a dismissive expression. "We could kill him there. And your "police" would never know."

I cannot look my boyfriend in the face.

"No. Not kill him," says Kain, obviously getting into the swing of things. He stretches his shoulders out as if bored with the whole concept. "You know, your little idea has merit, Raziel. Not to mention the exceptionally pleasing levels of irony…"

I look at Raziel, suddenly suspicious. He holds up the manual to the game as if it is a talisman. In many ways I suppose it is. How many times have I hidden behind its fantasy, using the game to block out the carnage in my real life?

"You gave me the idea, Rhianna," he says. "Our lives – here they are. You can keep our lives, our destinies, in these little boxes and little folds of paper. I think…I think I can do the same with this part of yours."

My boyfriend manages to take a choking breath as Kain's grip relaxes just enough so that the victim doesn't die too early.

"What do you mean?" I ask, feeling (and sounding) stupid.

Kain shoves his burden at Raziel, who catches my boyfriend easily and holds him at arm's length. He then approaches me with that slouching feline grace, and I try to stop my natural reaction to being stalked in that way – i.e., to run like buggery and not look back.  His sharp, dark eyes catch mine and hold them. 

"It's really very simple," he says, as if talking to a child. "When you play at being one of us – why do you do it? what is it you like about it?"

I'm lost for an answer, and my lips tremble as I struggle to think of something under his brilliant, unnerving gaze. 

"Too slow. I want instinctive." He snatches me by the neck and I wail as the wound under the bandages feels the pressure of his claws. Raziel hisses warningly behind us, but does not interrupt.

"Now.  Don't think. Just say. When you are me, girl, when you are fighting in Meridian, what is it you feel? Why do you do it?"

I splutter, terrified: "B-because it's f-fun…"

"Precisely!"

He lets go, cradles my head instead against his shoulder (with just that suggestion of the strength which could crush my skull like an egg if it felt so inclined) and pets my hair for a moment as if I were a favourite lap-dog. "It's fun. It's fun," he adds with a nasty grin, glancing up at Raziel, "to be me."

Raziel sniffs disparagingly and makes no comment. "You enjoy killing the Sarafan," Kain says to me. "You enjoy the power. You enjoy feeling my ability, my strength…"

His sharp-nailed hands brush across my cheek. "You want it," he says, softly, "don't you?"

I do not want to answer him. It isn't fun to kill, is it? I'm not really that sort of person, surely.

"And him," Kain continues, nodding at Raziel. "Why…is it fun to be him?"

I look at Raziel, and this time the answer is right there at the front of my mind. It has been all along.

"Revenge," I say, quietly. "I got to feel his revenge when I was Raziel."

Kain looks satisfied, but still the look in his smile, his eyes, as he says _you enjoy the power…_

Is it in me, after all? After all I've been through, would I still be out there standing on the little guy's likely appendage if I could?

My reverie is interrupted by Raziel's voice again. "Then let me have Rhianna's revenge," he says, "let me play _your game."_

And now I am alone again, in a house still full of police tape and blood, spare controller in hand, trying to work out what the hell I'm going to do now. 

They did take him, you know. I don't know how they did it, but one minute they were there, the next minute they weren't and neither was Gary.

Gary. I don't think I've ever named him before, have I? It just seems easier to say "Kill Gary, Raz!" when I'm manouvering Raziel over to yet another Nosgothian vampire, and to add "Die, Gary!" as Raziel, guided by me, expertly swings his staff to impale the little bastard.

I've been playing the game for about an hour. And I hate to admit it, but Kain was right. I do enjoy the power. It's in all of us, although we hate it and fear it – we want the power. It calls to us, just as Kain's ferocity and Raziel's vengeance call to us. These are folk who have strength unheard-of in our world. Let them use it now, as they offered, for my sake. 

Oh, and Kain bit him.

He bit him, and he didn't bite him to kill. There was a lot of screaming, and more blood, and then they were gone. So I've amused myself by naming all the vampires Raziel comes up against Gary, because the law of averages says I'll be right eventually. 

I expect the police will have a lot of questions to ask me. But they'll never find him. Or his drugs. There will just be me, with my wounds, and my PS2. Maybe I'll clear out of here and go to live with Carrie in Wales. 

We never did say goodbye, me and Raziel. Not really. As I said, it was too quick. And I don't know what I would have said, anyway. What is there to say? "Bye, Raz, thanks for helping me sort my life and nearly getting me killed, see you around, don't forget to write…" But I still missed him, the odd blue alien look of him, which was when I dug out the spare controller my boyfriend used to keep hidden in the bookcase, and started to play. Just to check on him, you know. Make sure he was all right. 

About half an hour ago, the postman came. He dropped two bills and a flyer through my door. The flyer was from a local gaming store, and it named a new game in which I had a particular interest…

And when I saw Kain and Raziel together in the promotional shot, I laughed out loud, almost tried to peer behind them to see if there might not have been a terrified human in there with them….

But mostly? (and maybe it was cruel of me) I just laughed.


End file.
